


The Sweetest Gift

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Human Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post S8, Water, Weather, slight body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:17:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1928064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’d think I’d like to sleep with you tonight.”</p><p>His sputtering and subsequent flailing woke up Sam and upset a few birds on a low hanging branch nearby. “Cas—! You can’t just say—.”</p><p>“Not <i>sexually</i>, Dean.” Castiel waved him off. “You’re a great… comfort to me. Would you prefer me sleeping with your brother?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sweetest Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Post S8 AU, you know the drill by now. Enjoy~

Somewhere along the way through their years on the road, living out of whatever hole in the wall joint they could find or even in the seats of the Impala on occasion, they never had the time to put much stock in weather forecasts across the country. Mostly, if they had time the morning before they headed out to their destination, Sam would turn the television to the local news or The Weather Channel if it was available – half the time it wasn't even on the channel listing – just to see what the temperature would be, or if rain was in their immediate future. If wifi was accessible, then more detailed forecasts were accessed, especially if they were headed across the continent.

Though majority of the time, they winged it. The plains were beautiful during the summer months when storm fronts rolled through, blue morning skies turning to the darkest of grays in just hour’s time. Sometimes it rained, sometimes it hailed. There was the _one_ instance that stuck out in both their minds though, of parking alongside the road in South Dakota in July and watching a warned thunderstorm drop a roped funnel into the wheat fields and rip across the horizon. Wind whipped through their hair, tugging insistently at their clothes even though they were only three miles away. It only lasted a few minutes before the rotation ceased and it pulled back into the sky without a trace.

They had been through it all – from torrential downpours that forced them to wait it out under whatever structure they could find, to snowstorms that knocked out power to hotels and left them stranded for days. But none of that, not even that one hurricane that roared up the east coast years ago, could top the weather they were forced to endure that day.

Apparently, they missed the memo that the more mountainous regions of Tennessee, even during the _summer_ , were saunas. Or else they were enduring some twisted warm front that had an itch to torture unwilling civilians. Outside of their current motel room in Gatlinburg – a decent place this time, with a living room, two separate bedrooms with _doors_ and a porch with a river running out back – the thermometer read close to a hundred. Tourists and the few locals there were packed the downtown strip, while some families occupied whatever pools were in the area; a few of their neighbors were wading in the creek, smaller children swimming in the deeper spots. One man down the way was fly-fishing.

The only reason the three of them were outdoors – three, now, Dean had to remind himself, since Castiel actually tagged along this time, the first instance since the Fall – was because their air conditioning unit refused to operate. The thermostat inside read eighty-five. Neither temperature was comfortable enough to survive in. At least the indoors wasn't humid, but in turn it was nearly stifling just to have the doors and windows closed.

Instead, they found themselves in that very river with the sun high in the sky, Sam trying to utilize whatever shade he could find on the banks while Castiel, stripped down to a pair of cheap cargo pants, sat in a deeper section with the water up to his neck. And donned in the only pair of shorts he owned just for occasions like this was Dean, stepping over wet rocks in a semi-failing attempt to make his way towards their friend, almost falling head-first into the stones one too many times. Sam thought it was _hilarious_. “The minute you fall, I’m getting it on film!” he shouted as his brother grabbed a taller rock to stabilize himself. Castiel was staring cockeyed between the two of them.

“Yuck it up, Sammy. I’ll pull you in with me!” That shut him up for all of a minute before he actually _did_ fall in, about seven feet from Castiel into a shallower section of the river. From underwater, he could _hear_ Sam’s hysteric laughter. Whatever, at least he was cooler now. No matter how many hunts they worked in the past or however high temperatures reached, sweating was _never_ something he got used to. This was practically a miracle.

He surfaced unwillingly and shook the water out of his hair, finding himself within reaching distance of the ex-Angel, who was now occupied with digging through pebbles with his toes. “You’re very graceful,” he mocked blatantly, flicking a wet finger at Dean without ever looking up.

“Yeah, well, you’re… What _are_ you doing?” Dean watched his movements under the clear surface of the river, noting how he dug deep into the silt, occasionally pulling up larger, more rigid rocks and gathering them into a small pile. His face was lost in concentration; he looked peaceful.

After all, it was the first day they had off in a while. The case they were working wasn't of the highest priority, and with the heat wave in effect, the motivation to do _anything_ other than complain was dwindling rapidly. Taking the day off just for pleasure was growing to become one of Sam’s better ideas. The same Sam was still sitting on the riverbank in only jeans, flipping through one of the many books he took with them from the bunker for light reading.

Castiel broke his exterior observances by shoving something sharp and hard into his palm. Dean looked at the triangular shape of it, twirling the thin object between his fingertips. “The Cherokee have lived on these lands for hundreds of years. That’s for you.” Slowly, he thumbed the rest of the silt off the arrowhead and pulled it above water, holding it up to the sunlight.

Quietly, he thanked him and slid it into his front pocket, hoping it didn't poke him through the fabric of his pants later. Maybe he could string it up with some cord. “So you’re just… out here looking for rocks?”

“Somewhat,” Castiel shrugged. He pulled up another stone, shinier than the others he had previously retrieved, and took it in hand, cleaning dirt from its surface. Probably quartz, from the look of it. “It’s quiet here. Even with those two children screaming by the bridge.”

Dean chuckled and shifted the water with his hand. “And _hot_ too, man. You’re gonna burn up ‘f you keep sittin’ out here like this.”

“I’ll manage.” Instead of moving the quartz to the pile, he handed it over and Dean added it to his newly formed weird rock collection. “I would rather be here than indoors though. I’m not accustomed to this weather yet.”

“Hell of a way t’introduce you to a heat wave,” he added with a nudge to his shoulder. A brief smile flit over Castiel’s lips. “I don’t think anyone’s really used to _this_. ‘S why people invade pools during this time of year, no one likes being hot.”

“I can see the appeal,” Castiel mused. He ceased his incessant rock-digging and crossed his legs, choosing to splash water in his face to rid the sweat Dean could see beading at his hairline. “Though, this is significantly colder than a swimming pool.”

“And you get more legroom here too.” To illustrate, he stretched his legs and allowed himself to float leisurely, the current barely enough to push him in any direction. At his side, Castiel went back to his digging, pulling up a second arrowhead within seconds. He set the stone to cover Dean’s naval, the sudden touch sending him reeling into the water, all while Castiel leered at him in amusement. Luckily, he retrieved the piece before it was lost to the river for another few dozen years. “You think that’s funny, do ya’?”

Castiel smirked. “I don’t see you fighting back.”

“Well fight this—.” Dean lunged at the man and successfully pushed him under, the two roiling and wrestling their way to the surface, cackling along the way. He was the first to emerge, spitting out muddied water while his friend followed after, moving to practically straddle his waist, out of sight of anyone nearby. Off to their side, Sam was rolling his eyes with a barely suppressed smirk.

The silence between them resumed. At the bridge, a girl joined two boys in the water, their parents watching on at the riverbank. A fish surfaced abruptly, catching an unlucky fly. Sam turned pages aimlessly. “I’m glad you came with us,” Dean finally admitted through a whisper, feeling his body relax as Castiel’s hands wound around his waist, unbeknownst to anyone but them. “It’s… nice to see you. Out of the bunker, y’know.”

Castiel sighed against his neck, propping his chin up on Dean’s shoulder. “It gets… lonely, when you and Sam aren’t there,” he admitted quietly, almost to himself. “Research is more taxing in this body… I fell asleep on the Bible in the library once.”

“ _That_ thing?” Said Bible was over six inches thick and _had_ to weigh at least thirty pounds. They didn't even know how _old_ it was, and Castiel probably drooled all over the text. “I knew it was _boring_ , but c’—Hey!” Castiel pinched his side abruptly. “Okay, okay, I get it!”

One day, he would wipe that smug look of accomplishment off Castiel’s face. Today, he settled for allowing the man to hug him tightly before releasing his grip and moving to sit at his side, shoulders brushing softly. “I’m still adjusting,” Castiel confided; it was a completely understandable fact. Being alive for that long as a celestial being, only to be ripped down from his perch and forced to live among humanity? Anyone could make sense of that, given their willingness to believe in such a thing.

“It’s only been a few weeks,” he stated, feeling their toes brush unhurried. “Hell, me ‘n Sam’ve been doing this human thing for years, and we still haven’t gotten a hang of it. You’re _allowed_ to make mistakes.” Tailing an exhale, he added, “You’re doing good, though. Right?”

If he hadn’t been paying attention, he wouldn't have noticed Castiel’s pause and restrained apprehension. Despite the vehement denials, Dean _knew_ about the nightmares. Waking up in the middle of the night to _screaming_ shouldn't have been something he was growing used to, but it was. And Castiel refused to let him in or at least help, even in the smallest of ways. This was the closest they had been in _days_ , not since the last one. He figured it had been particularly vicious, given that the man could barely look him in the _eye_ for a good portion of the day.

“I…” Castiel swallowed, turning briefly to look over towards Sam, now nodding off against a tree with his hands folded atop the open book in his lap. “I never expected dreams to be so… exhausting. Coupled with being alone for long periods, I’ve forgotten how nice it is to have you nearby.”

The cold water did nothing to alleviate the heat rising to his cheeks. _Talk about being a big ol’ sap, Cas._ “’S that why you came?”

A nod. “These dreams, they replay all of the things I’ve done, in both Heaven and on earth, Angel or not. They feel… real. …The other night, I remembered what atrocities Naomi had me commit against you.” His shudder rippled the water surrounding them. “I thought the blood on my hands was real.”

Well, shit. “So that was _you_ puking in the bathroom?” Castiel nodded, eyes downcast. “I thought that was _Sam_! Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was handling it on my _own_. I thought secluding myself would work, but it seems that was counterproductive.” A shrug. “Your time after Hell, how did you get manage?”

“…Drinking, mostly. Mine never really stopped, either.” Dean sighed, sinking until his shoulders were covered. The pair of arrowheads nudged at his thigh. “I guess it just comes with the territory, y’know?”

Castiel nodded in understanding. “I’d think I’d like to sleep with you tonight.”

His sputtering and subsequent flailing woke up Sam and upset a few birds on a low hanging branch nearby. “Cas—! You can’t just say—.”

“Not _sexually_ , Dean.” Castiel waved him off. “You’re a great… comfort to me. Would you prefer me sleeping with your brother?”

He was _not_ having this conversation, double entendre or otherwise. Part of him expected Sam to be laughing at his plight in the background. “There’s no _sleeping_ with Sam, y’hear me?” He jabbed his shoulder lightheartedly. “Just… That’s fine, Cas. I was kinda… planning on it, anyway.”

Now was Castiel’s turn to flush bright red. “You were?”

Well, _that_ cat was out of the bag. The most they had done in the past was light kisses to platonic areas and tight hugs whenever they returned from a hunt. Half for Castiel not burning down their home, and the other just because he _missed_ him. At least he could admit it to himself – speaking the words would probably give him an aneurism. Their actions weren’t purely out of brotherly affections for one another; they probably never were to begin with, and neither really bothered to act on them. And he had been planning on asking Castiel to share a bed with him – if his intentions weren’t already clear, they were _crystal_ now. “Yeah, uh…” he started, palming the back of his neck. “Just… Sammy got two beds and I didn’t want you to sleep on the couch and—.”

“Dean,” he interrupted, palm pressed to his bare shoulder. “I understand.”

But understand _what_ , exactly? Huffing through his nose, he made sure Sam was still conked out before he leant over and pressed his lips to Castiel’s temple. “That’s… Yeah, that’s… good.”

If the look on Castiel’s face was anything to go by, he felt he had made the right decision.

 

-+-+-+-+-+-

 

Sometime during the night, despite the slight chill and humidity in the air from the open window, he felt an emptiness in the bed he had been trying so desperately to fill. The last he knew, a body had been pressed against his front, his hands clutching a tanned waist with no intentions of ever letting go – now, he was alone in their small bedroom, listening to the sounds of the sink running in the en-suite bathroom. Great, so _that_ plan backfired brilliantly.

He was sitting up by the time Castiel returned to the room in pitch darkness, form reflected by the blinking red light of the clock on the bedside table and moonlight. His face was sheepish as ever, refusing again to make any form of eye contact. Dean was sure if he hadn’t been in the room, Castiel would have fled the vicinity. Instead, he held out an open hand in compromise, groggily mumbling “C’mere.”

Castiel complied reluctantly, lowering himself onto his side to face him. In the pale light from a dimmed streetlamp, he could tell his eyes were red-rimmed, partly from sleep deprivation and tears. Shit, he’d been _crying_ and didn't bother to _wake_ him. How many times had it happened before? And how could he have slept through it?

Softly, he brought his arm around Castiel’s waist and pulled him tighter, feeling the rigidity hidden beneath permanently warm skin begin to loosen, just at his touch. It was a simple thing; it shouldn't have brought him as much happiness as it did. Castiel continued to watch him wearily, anxiety reflected in glazed eyes. “Do they hurt?” Dean asked quietly, trailing well-worn fingers over the cloth-covered ridges marring formerly pristine skin. Castiel never talked about what happened after he fell. All they knew was that he showed up bloodied and battered on their doorstep three days after Heaven bottomed out, and he rarely ever let anyone near his back.

 _Except_ Dean. The ex-Angel was more apprehensive than ever about touching and being touched, and both brothers gave him a reprieve while he gathered his bearings. But Dean was the only one allowed to touch him, whether it was in attempts at comfort or accidental brushes in passing. Though, the v-shaped scars at his shoulder blades were more than perplexing. For all the time they knew each other, he thought the wings existed only as shadows – the past three weeks had brought to light more than he ever wanted to know about the man’s former Angelic nature.

Castiel hummed an affirmative and burrowed ever so minutely into his hold. “I still feel them, sometimes… I miss flying, mostly.” At least his tone wasn't as forlorn as it had been. They could make light of it now, but they knew it still hurt all the same. But it was a way to alleviate the tension that permeated their lives; just to find a moment to relax, to not worry about what was hiding around the corner, was a miracle.

“Musta been nice,” he retorted, “being able to zap wherever you wanted to go. Here, shirt off, roll over. I wanna get at your back.”

Castiel complied with a skeptical glance, pushing up enough to where he could pull his shirt off before flopping onto his stomach. There was a _reason_ he stayed under the water earlier in the afternoon, and why he almost always had something covering his skin. No one _could_ understand the fully healed slits that stemmed from where six wings once were, nor the purpled bruises that streaked into fine lines under his fingertips. He’d developed a morbid fascination with them, just knowing that something otherworldly had been there once, hidden from sight for so long. Now he was forced to appreciate what once was through gentle touches and soft presses of skin.

“It’s not so bad,” he murmured, spine arching a bit as Dean kneaded the knots in his shoulders, making his way towards the scars with lessening pressure. The fresh skin was probably still terribly sensitive. “Being human, I mean. Though it does have its disadvantages…” Propping his chin up onto folded arms, he drew senseless patterns in the bedspread. “Before… everything, your soul would reach out to me whenever we were close. It’s disconcerting, not being able to see it. I could judge your emotions easier that way than having to go by your expressions.” Dean huffed. “I think… that’s what I miss the most.”

“There’s gotta be _other_ things, y’know.” The ‘ _things that aren’t related to me_ ’ was heavily implied. He shifted his ministrations to the small of his back, feeling the man shudder beneath him; the more relaxed he got him, the easier it would be for them both to fall back asleep. He didn't know how much longer he could stay awake; half of him was tempted to just lie back down and nod off.

“There’s nothing else.” That alone stopped him from his half-hearted effort at a massage. Sitting back on his haunches enough for Castiel to roll over, he listened to the man speak praises that he still felt he didn’t deserve. “The only thing that kept me going after I fell was wanting to see you one more time. Without that—.”

He hung his head. “I get it,” he sighed. _God_ , he sucked at this. “I… Sam was bad off and I thought you were dead in a _ditch_ somewhere, and every time I thought about it –.” He stopped to breathe; why was he getting so worked up about this _now_ of all times? Where was the tension, where was the lightning to strike him down for having _feelings_? “I just couldn't lose you _again_ , man.”

“I’m here.” Castiel reached up to palm his neck, pulling him down until their foreheads were touching. Wet green met blue in the dark of the Tennessee night. “I’m here now.”

“But you won’t be.” He squeezed his eyes against the sting and chose solely to breathe, fingers uselessly buried into the sheets nearest his friend’s head. “You’ll leave, I’ll do something to fuck this up and you’ll _leave_.”

Calm hands carded through his hair, coming to rest along the sides of his neck, the occasional scrape of nails sending shivers through him. “Even if I wanted to, where would I go? Everything I’ve done, after all we’ve endured, and you still _dare_ to think that I would rather be elsewhere?” Cupping his cheek, Castiel pressed a light kiss to the tip of his nose. “Contrary to what you believe, I need you _too_ , Dean.”

He never expected their… _whatever_ it was they were doing, to turn out the way it did. Timidly, he was the one to initiate contact, closing those few short inches to kiss the lips he’d been eyeing for all those years, Castiel goading him on with an arm around his shoulders and his other hand in his hair, returning the touch with a _bit_ more enthusiasm that necessary. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was waiting for the world to stop, for the apocalypse to kick into high gear for the umpteenth time, or _hell_ , for _Sam_ to burst through the door.

Nothing happened. The world kept right on its axis and life went on as usual.

With that realization, he threw himself into it, ultimately letting Castiel determine the pace because no matter his experience, he wasn’t about to take advantage of him in his new state of being. There was no rush towards a predetermined point, no need to get ahead of themselves – they kissed with slow intent, allowing hands to caress with every push and pull, lips parted with the slightest hint of tongue if they were brave enough.

He didn't know what there was to be scared of – this was _Cas_. Ex-Angel of the Lord now bound to walk as a human for the foreseeable future, and arguably his best friend for the past five-odd years, no matter how many times he ran off or how many things he killed along the way. Hell, or how many times he _died_ for him. No one had ever done that for _him_ and come back to live the tale. Maybe it was the idea of royally fucking up what they had that had him holding him close, afraid to ever let him go, lest he actually leave the bed and walk out of his life for good. He didn't know if he could handle it, not again.

Vaguely, he could hear Castiel murmuring his name and feel something petting his hair, a voice quietly shushing him. At some point, both his shirt had disappeared and he’d started to weep, wetness streaking his cheeks. “You’re alright,” Castiel assured him, holding him close, “I’m here, you’re alright.”

It took him another minute to regain his composure once he was sure the tears had stopped and the incessant shaking subsided. All the while Castiel continued his attempts to soothe him, whispering words of appreciation to him until the quiet of the night resumed and they were left watching one another, willing the other to move. “’M sorry,” he finally conceded, settling for resting his head against Castiel’s shoulder, breathing in his scent as a form of comfort.

“You don’t need to apologize for everything,” Castiel replied with a kiss near his eye. “Though, you seem to be in the habit of that, lately.”

“ _Shush_ , you.” He found the strength to roll off Castiel, flopping at his side and rubbing their shoulders together. Their fingers linked lazily; neither spoke a word. “What a couple’a fuck ups, right?”

Castiel agreed with a silent nod. He turned his head to Dean, then to the ceiling. It was probably infinitely more interesting than their current conversation. “Were you planning on doing anything… more, tonight?”

Well _that_ woke him up. “Cas!” He sat up abruptly, staring wildly at the prone form of his friend; his eyes softened at small smile there, lips still kiss swollen in the pale light. “…Y’know what, another time, maybe. But… you’d want to?”

He could tell Castiel was aware of his uncertainty – after all, who _willingly_ wanted him for _him_ and actually stayed past their first night together? A resounding _zero_. What made Castiel any different? “It’d be nice, with you.”

Thankfully, the dark hid the inevitable redness of his face. He lowered himself back onto the bed, crawling under the sheets once again with Castiel following after. “Y’think you can sleep this time?” he questioned before rolling onto his side.

Castiel tucked into his new embrace, hair tickling Dean’s chin. Still, even without his grace, he was warm in every way. “Goodnight, Dean.”

He closed his eyes to the night. “G’night, Cas.”

 

-+-+-+-+-+-

 

In two hours, the sun would rise and they would be forced back into their life-or-death, day-to-day job, risking their necks for people who either appreciated what they did or immediately forgot their existence once they left. It begged the question – who were they hunting for, themselves or everyone else? Even if they finally managed to close the gates of Hell and reopen Heaven, even if they were able to save humans from the monsters that hunted them down, what then? What if there was a way they could stay in that room for eternity, broken air conditioner be damned?

Castiel found him sitting at the picnic table outside their room at four in the morning, hands folded and pressed to his forehead in semblance of prayer. He couldn't even bring himself to do _that_ anymore. Why bother? “D’you think we’ll ever, y’know… _stop_?”

With an arm around his neck and fingers tracing the hair behind his ear, he felt Castiel exhale. The trees rustled in eternal sympathy. “When we’ve redeemed ourselves, maybe.”

He chuckled. “That’ll be the day.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "The Sweetest Gift" by Sade.
> 
> Again, my attempt to go towards smut went kinda backwards on me. I'll get back around to it one of these days, I promise.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


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